The Sea Lion Read online

  They ran into the owner of the privateer vessel just as they approached his home, known as the Red Manor. The noble Carsten Tank had just climbed into the carriage and sat down when Willy stopped the coachman right before he cracked the whip.

  “Wait!”

  “Excuse me, young man?” Tank asked. He was a grey, middle-aged man with a ponytail and a slightly confused expression on his face.

  “If you need a captain for The Avenger of Wrath, I’m available.”

  “Right... And what references do you have? Mr...”

  “Willy Lauer from Hvaler. I can use my father as a reference, if you’d like? He’ll vouch for me—as will my brother, Gustav, who I believe you’ve met before. He’s the Ammunition and Equipment Manager at the fortress...”

  “I know Gustav Lauer. Good day to both of you. As you can see, I’m just leaving. Send me an application, Mr. Lauer, and I’ll consider you when the time comes.”

  LAUER

  SEPTEMBER 20th, 1807

  Late Sunday night, Ulf was sitting alone in the kitchen. The space was cold and unpleasant, and the darkness dragged the atmosphere down even further. The chilly autumn air was coming in from all the nooks and crannies in the creaking timber. Meanwhile, the storm that had come in from the sea whipped raindrops against the small windows that were threatening to fall down as it was. Ulf was bundled up in a thick woollen sweater and a pair of woollen socks. Lighting a proper fire in the hearth was out of the question. All he needed was enough heat to make himself some coffee. The firewood was to be saved for the winter months, and the same applied to the lighting. He poked the woodchips burning in a pile on the table to get some more light. Although the kitchen remained half-dark, the outside was darker still. Blacker than the coffee he’d made himself, in fact. Or rather, blacker than the decoction of dandelion root that would have to substitute as coffee for now.

  Ulf grabbed the copper kettle from the fire and poured himself a cup of the liquid, leaving it to cool while he packed his pipe with dried yarrow and betony. He lifted the pipe to his lips and lit it just as a shadow flitted past the window. He heard footsteps on the wet stoop leading up to the house, and a moment later, Willy stumbled inside looking like a drowned rat.

  “Good evening, Dad. Have a look at this.”

  A billow of smoke seemed to surround Ulf as he shook his head and looked at his son in disbelief. “Good heavens, son. Where have you been these past couple of days?”

  Willy looked unkempt to put it mildly. His clothes were drenched, his hair was so wet it stuck to his head, and his beard was a mess. He hadn’t shaved for more than a week, and he’d set out from Fredrikshald at the break of Sunday morning. He’d rowed with such fervour that his thick-skinned knuckles were wounded and blistering.

  “I’ve been looking for Raja,” Willy said. “Also, Gustav says hello. I’ve been staying with him since Friday...”

  “Oh, that makes me happy! How’s he doing?”

  “He’s happy as a lark and doing well.”

  “That’s great to hear. And you? What was it you wanted to show me?”

  “Right, look at this.” Willy unbuttoned his coat and pulled out a leather bag that he threw onto the table.

  Ulf opened the bag and removed its contents. “A letter? For me?”

  “No, that’s my letter of recommendation.”

  “Letter of recommendation?”

  “Yes, and I need you to sign it.” Gustav had written the letter of recommendation for him and signed it as the Ammunition and Equipment Manager.

  “What for?”

  “For a job application.”

  “What sort of job, if I might ask...”

  “Captain.”

  “You? Captain?”

  “Yes, me... Why not?”

  “Oh, my dear son. You’re in over your head.”

  “That’s what you think. Just wait and see.”

  “Alright, then. Good luck. What’s the name of the ship, by the way?”

  “The Avenger of Wrath.”

  Ulf furrowed his brow and squinted. “Jesus Christ, what kind of ship is that?”

  RED MANOR

  SEPTEMBER 21st, 1807

  Monday evening at six o’clock, Willy rang the bell of the beautiful front door to Red Manor. A moment later, the door was cracked open and out came the head of one of the servants with slicked-back hair.

  The servant’s eyes opened wide. “What do you want?”

  Willy had been rowing in the wind without a hat on, leaving his hair like a bird’s nest, the blond locks standing to all sides. His beard was just as unkempt as it had been in his father’s kitchen the night before, mainly because he had wolfed down a serving of pork and drunk a bit of homebrewed beer before heading straight to bed. He’d had five hours of sleep before setting out from Lauer at daybreak, fighting strong headwinds and enormous waves in his attempt to reach the mainland.

  “Good evening. Is Carsten home?” Willy acted like he and the master of the house were old friends who addressed each other by first name.

  “Yes, the master is home. And who might you be, young man?”

  “Tell him that Willy’s here and wants to talk to him.”

  “About what?”

  “None of your business, it’s confidential. Just go fetch him. I’ll wait in the hallway. If you let me in, that is.”

  “But...”

  Willy pushed the door open and stepped inside before the servant could object. “Go on! Don’t just stand there and stare,” he commanded as he imagined a captain would. The hall he found himself in was bigger than his house on Lauer. In fact, the entire house could fit in this one room. The walls were adorned with invaluable paintings, mirrors, and beautiful sconces, the like of which he’d never seen before.

  Suddenly, Willy spotted himself in the mirror and shuddered in horror. He combed his fingers through his unruly hair in a desperate attempt to appear more presentable. As long as he could pass for a captain... Captain? What sort of captain could he ever hope to be? Not the regular kind, that much was certain. The man he saw staring back at him in the mirror looked more like the infamous pirate Blackbeard that he’d seen illustrations of in Gustav’s books. He had a beard, dishevelled hair, and was armed with a sable and no fewer than six pistols. The pirate was a terrifying sight, but another illustration in the book was even more frightening. It showed Blackbeard’s decapitated head suspended from the mast of his ship. Although that was almost a hundred years ago, this Blackbeard had fought the British, just like Willy intended to do. He imagined himself in the role of Blackbeard, onboard Queen Anne’s Revenge, equipped with 40 cannons. That’s right, 40!

  Willy stood there fencing with an imaginary sword and tried his best to look mean. Behold Willy Lauer, the fearsome captain of The Avenger of Wrath, the scourge of Skagerrak!

  Then a voice rang out in the hall.

  “Ah, there we are. Good evening, young man.”

  Willy turned away from the mirror sheepishly. “I was... uh...” He cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you, Carsten. Good evening and God be with you, I might say... Right, listen. I’ve finally sorted out a letter of recommendation for you. I’d like to apply for the captaincy of your ship—you know, the privateer vessel we were talking about.”

  Willy fished the letter of recommendation out of the leather bag and handed it to the shipowner.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lauer. I’ll be in touch.”

  KRISTIANSAND

  SEPTEMBER 27th, 1807

  The British had set their sights further north. It was time to confiscate the rest of the Dano-Norwegian fleet. Two ships in particular had come to their attention: Princess Lovise Augusta and Prince Christian Frederik in Norway. Commander Stopford aboard the Spencer was tasked with collecting them. It took Stopford no time at all to locate the Prince Christian Frederik in Kristiansand, but he chose to lay low at first, arresting merchant ships off the Norwegian coast. On September 27th, he sent one of his men in to Kristiansand to negotiat
e. Their message was clear: hand over the Prince Christian Frederik at once or we’ll bombard the town. Neither Prefect Thygesen nor Commanding Officer Jessen bowed to the British wishes, and so Stopford and his squadron launched their attach. The British were met with three gun sloops and two gun yawls from the naval base in Stavern, Fredriksvern, under the organisation of Lieutenant Bille. Stopford fired twice from broadside before retreating, in close pursuit by the Norwegian vessels. By all measures, the British had been chased away.

  FREDRIKSTEN FORTRESS

  OCTOBER 7th, 1807

  “Fine, you won,” Willy said sheepishly and threw the cord onto the soil of the training ground. Gustav had forced him to his knees in a fencing duel once again, in spite of the fact that Willy had been training almost every day over the past couple of weeks. With that being said, Gustav did have a four-year head start. Willy was a quick learner, though, and he was making steady progress. When it came to shooting muskets, he’d more or less caught up with Gustav. His brother was quicker at loading the gun but Willy had better aim. He didn’t miss often, and when he did it wasn’t by much. Learning to fire the cannons hadn’t been much of a struggle for him either.

  Willy was well on his way to becoming a decent soldier, which would be of paramount importance if he were to ever stand a chance of becoming the privateer that he dreamed of being. He hadn’t heard back from the shipowner, however, and Willy was starting to grow impatient. He felt ready for war. He wanted to go out and get rich.

  Gustav read his mind. “You’ll get there, brother,” he said and gave Willy a pat on the back. “Before you know it, you’ll be ready to...”

  “Become a privateer, I know,” Willy said, finishing the sentence with a pensive nod. “If only this Tank guy would hurry up and make a decision.”

  Gustav laughed and shook his head.

  “Take a step back from this captain dream of yours, Willy. You have to learn to walk before you can run, you know. You’ll most likely start out as a crewman and rise through the ranks, just like I did. We both know nobody starts at the top.”

  “Don’t say that. Just take a look around,” Willy said, gesturing to his general surroundings. He shot a look around the large training ground that was brimming with activity; it was overrun with men preparing themselves for war. It was a noisy setting, to say the least. There were muskets going off and blades clinking together in every which direction. “How many of these men do you think want to be privateers?”

  “Best guess is three: you and the twins. Nobody else, as far as I know.”

  “Exactly. You said it yourself. In terms of finding a crew, the shipowners have their work cut out for them. Sure, I might be young, but so what? I know how to sail, and I’ve been spending time out at sea since for as long as I can remember...”

  “On small boats, yes,” Gustav chuckled. “But not on a ship, dear brother...”

  “I’ll learn by doing... There’ll always be someone to...”

  A new voice chimed in. “Have you interest in becoming a privateer as well?”

  The brothers turned around to face Lieutenant Kaspersen, who was standing there with the twins, Odd and Jens. There was no way of telling those two apart; they were both short and stocky with copper hair, not to mention the same gleam in their eyes and dimples in their cheeks when they smiled. They were also easy to work with and never caused any trouble. The twins were frugal, having grown up on a poor croft attached to Knekterød Farm in Idd Parish. The Vale of Tears, they called it. Willy had met the twins a little over a week ago and learned that the two of them wanted to be privateers as well.

  “Yeah,” Willy said. “Why do you ask?” He looked the lieutenant dead in the eyes, prepared to defend himself if necessary.

  The lieutenant offered him a disarming smile. “And it appears that you have started to grow impatient...”

  “Of course, I have. Nothing’s happening...”

  “Hear, hear,” Jens said.

  “See, that is where you are wrong,” the lieutenant said. “Something is happening.”

  “Oh? Not around here, it isn’t...”

  “Correct, but things are occurring down south. A few days ago, we seized a ship in the North Sea. Hector, I think it was called. It was on its way from Arkhangelsk to London, carrying 2,200 barrels of tar and pitch. That should be worth a small fortune.”

  “Ooh, go on.” Willy was grinning from ear to ear, a dreamy look in his eyes.

  “If I were you,” the lieutenant said in a friendly voice, “I would not waste any more time waiting for Tank to make a decision. That could be a while. If you ask me, the whole endeavour seems a little half-hearted.”

  “I feel compelled to agree,” Gustav chimed in. “It would be unwise to bite the hand that feeds you, so to speak.” He was referring to Carsten Tank’s close ties to England. Having exported timber to the country for as long as he had, it didn’t come as a surprise that he was delaying the process of finding a crew. One day, the war would end, and his trade with the English would resume. Assuming he didn’t cause too much damage to them, of course.

  The plans for a privateer crew was just an attempt to appease the Danes. Nothing more than a show of goodwill.

  Pure politics and diplomacy.

  FREDRIKSHALD

  OCTOBER 20th, 1807

  “That’s it, I quit,” Odd said. He slapped his hand against his forehead and stroked his copper hair in despair. “We’ll never find work here.”

  His brother, Jens, nodded. “I agree. Let’s head to Sweden. The selection will be better there, I’m sure.”

  “You’re giving up on privateering?” Willy asked. “Aren’t you going to fight for it?”

  Odd shook his head and looked at Willy with resignation.

  “Fight for it, you say? Haven’t we fought enough already?”

  “You can’t be serious. You’re giving up this easily? Do you think life just hands everything to you on a silver platter?” Willy asked, but the twins didn’t respond. He continued, “Dreams are free, but making them come true has its price. I refuse to quit. As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.”

  “And now, the way leads to Sweden,” Jens said decisively.

  They’d been walking around town in search of work for days, but their efforts had been in vain. Of course, that had taken a toll on their mood. Not even Willy could help but feel exhausted and defeated, but all the same, he refused to give up on his dream even if he had no idea where he was going. For all he knew, the path ahead could be a long and winding one. He was prepared to rise through the ranks just like his brother. They were both ambitious men who seized the opportunity when it presented itself.

  “Alright then,” Willy said. “This is where we part.”

  A concerned expression flitted across Odd’s face.

  “What? Are you leaving us?” The 16-year-old said, as if Willy who was four years older was somehow obligated to take care of them. In that moment, Willy realised that the twins had grown more attached to him than he’d previously realised. Willy was the one who knew how to talk the talk and was connected with all the right people. He knew Carsten Tank, plus his brother was the Ammunition and Equipment Manager at the fortress. And who were they? Two poor men from a croft. No more, no less.

  “Ha! Leave you? That’s the opposite of what’s happening. I know exactly where I’m going: to Kristiansand to become a privateer. That’s where I’m going, not to Sweden.”

  The twins looked at one another. “Us too,” they said in unison.

  Willy smiled. “Great. I’ll talk to Gustav. I’m sure he can help us come up with something.”

  A little while later, they were sitting in the depot with Gustav.

  “No, there’s no work here,” Gustav said with a shrewd smile. “I’m not surprised, seeing as we’re starting to feel the effects of the English blockade.”

  “You don’t say,” Willy answered sarcastically. “We had no idea.”

  “Calm down, brother. I have some
work for you, it’s just a question of whether you want it.”

  “We’ll take anything,” the twins said in unison.

  Gustav looked inquisitively at the trio. “Anything? Absolutely anything? Without objection?”

  “Yes, anything,” Willy said. “You heard them. We’re tired of doing nothing.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Gustav said with relief. “I was about to turn down a request that I received from Carsten Tank.”

  “From Carsten,” Willy said curiously. “What does he want?”

  “Well, once in a while he rents slaves from us—quite often, actually. But I’m short on bodies at the moment. One of the wardens has fallen ill...”

  Willy wrinkled his nose. “One of the what?”

  “One of the prison guards is ill, and I only have one slave in custody. The rest of them have already been rented out.”

  “That’s good news for us,” Jens said.

  Gustav laughed. “Depends how you look at it.”

  “Right, tell us more,” Willy said impatiently. “What’ll we do, and what’ll we earn?”

  “Working the docks at Fredrikshald Sugar Plant.”

  “Okay, so it’s at the Sugar House,” Willy said, insisting upon using the colloquial name. He nodded. “Great, in that case I’ll take on the role of prison guard. The twins can be dock workers. What about our wages?”

  “You’ll receive a soldier’s wage, but Odd and Jens will get...” Gustav hesitated for a moment, reluctant to tell them. “A slave’s wage. Or rather, seeing as slaves don’t receive wages, you’ll receive the money that Tank pays to rent the slaves, which is close to nothing. Will you be taking the job?”

  Willy couldn’t help but laugh. “How sneaky. I knew there’d be a catch. But yeah, I’ll take the job. Odd and Jens can decide for themselves.”

  “Uh,” Odd stared at Jens who was rolling his eyes. “Hmm... A slave’s wage, you say? That doesn’t sound too great. Can we have some time to think?”

  “You’ve got an hour, not a second more. Tank needs a response today. There’s a ship coming in from Moss as we speak, so work begins tomorrow.”

  THE SUGAR HOUSE